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Book Showcase: The Wages of Sin by Nancy Allen

Title: The Wages of Sin

Author: Nancy Allen

Book description:

“The Elsie Arnold series deserves to run and run.”— Alex Marwood, author of The Wicked Girls and The Killer Next Door

In rural McCown County, Missouri, a young pregnant woman is found beaten to death in a trailer park. The only witness to the murder is Ivy, her six-year-old daughter, who points to her mom’s boyfriend—father of the unborn child. County prosecutor Madeleine Thompson promises the community justice, and in the Ozarks, that can only mean one thing: a death sentence.

When Madeleine’s first choice for co-counsel declines to try a death penalty case, she is forced to turn to assistant prosecutor Elsie Arnold. Elsie is reluctant to join forces with her frosty boss, but the road to conviction seems smooth—until unexpected facts about the victim arise, and the testimony of the lone eyewitness Ivy becomes increasingly crucial. Against Elsie’s advice, Madeleine brings in the state attorney general’s office to assist them, while cutthroat trial attorney Claire O’Hara joins the defense.

Elsie will not let the power of prosecution—of seeking justice—be wrested from her without a fight. She wants to win the case, and to avenge the death of the mother and her unborn child. But as the trial nears, Elsie begins to harbor doubts about the death penalty itself. Meanwhile, the child Ivy is in greater danger than anyone knows.

“Unflinching and gritty.” — Library Journal

Excerpt:

Oh
my God. Let this be over, Elsie thought, doodling on
the page of a legal pad. Assistant Prosecuting Attorney Elsie Arnold had been
tied up in Judge Carter’s court for nearly two hours that morning, representing the
State of Missouri in a preliminary hearing. The criminal defendant was charged
with robbery in the first degree. Only Judge Carter, Elsie thought, would be
coldhearted enough to subject her to a robbery prelim on the Tuesday after
Labor Day weekend.

Public
Defender Josh Nixon was grilling the bank president, Donna Hudson, in
cross-examination.

“So you were present at the time of the alleged robbery?”

“Yes—I said so. In my office.”

“But isn’t it true that, if you were shut up in your office, you did
not have occasion to hear whether the defendant threatened any harm?”

“The buzzer sounded. I heard it.”The woman sat stiff, with righteous indignation in every
wrinkle of her face.

“The alarm, right? But you didn’t hear any statements made
by the defendant, did you? Because you remained safely in the back of the bank.”

“I saw the bomb.”

A
comical grin grew on the defense attorney’s face; Elsie closed her
eyes so she wouldn’t have to see it.

“The bomb?”he
repeated.

“The box. The box with the tape.”

The
criminal complaint filed by the prosecution did not allege that the defendant
had threatened the bank employee with a bomb. The criminal charge stated that
the defendant threatened the use of what appeared to be a bomb.

“Describe this box, please.”

“It was a box, about this size,”she said, making a rectangle shape with her hands. “And it was covered with duct
tape.”

“Did the defendant detonate this deadly bomb? This dangerous
instrument you described?”

The
banker eyed the defense attorney with resentment. “You know what happened.”

“Tell me. For the record.”

“The bank teller gave him the money. Everything in her
drawer. He ran out, left that box on the counter.”

“Then what happened?”

“The bomb squad came and took over.”

“What did they do? If you know.”

“They exploded it.”The lines deepened around the woman’s mouth. “They blew it up. And the
mess went everywhere.”

“Mess? What kind of mess?”

Elsie
wanted to cover her ears to block out the answer that was coming.

“The chocolate, the cherries.”

Josh
Nixon leaned on the empty jury box, nodding sagely. “So the bomb was not a bomb
at all? It was—what did you say?”

“A box of candy. Chocolate-covered cherries. Wrapped in duct
tape.”

“And for the record, Ms. Hudson: was the money recovered?
The money from the bank teller’s drawer?”

“Yes, it was. But—”

Before
she could complete her sentence, the defense attorney turned his back to her,
cutting the witness off. “No further questions,” he said, and walked back to
the counsel table. Nixon slid into his seat, stretching his long legs out in
front of him and tucking his longish sun-streaked hair behind his ear. He
hadn’t bothered to don a tie.

Judge
Carter, a slim man in his forties with prematurely silver hair, peered at Elsie
over his glasses. “Redirect?”

Elsie
stood at the counsel table, looking at the bank president with an encouraging
face. “But
did it appear to be a bomb? When the defendant threatened the teller with it?”

“Objection,”Nixon
said, sitting up straight. “The witness wasn’t present, has no way of
knowing other than hearsay!”

Elsie
barked back. “You’re the one who opened the door on this line of questioning.
In your cross-examination.”

The
bank president rose from her chair, the picture of aggrieved fury. “What I want to know,”she said, “is who is going to pay? For that mess? The cleaning of the
bank lobby?”

Judge
Carter slammed the gavel. The bank president jumped, startled, and hopped back
onto her seat on the witness stand.

“Ms. Arnold—further questions?”

“No.”

“Any further witnesses on behalf of the defense?”

“No,” said Nixon.

The
judge turned to his clerk. “The court finds probable cause. Defendant is bound over to
Circuit Court on the charge of robbery in the first degree. Arraignment to be
held Friday at 9:00 A.M.”

When
the judge left the bench, Josh Nixon turned to whisper with his client, a
long-haired young man with a bushy mustache. The president of Bank of the
Hilltop, Donna Hudson, stormed off the witness stand and bore down on Elsie.

“How could I be treated this way in a court of law?”

“No one meant to mistreat you,”Elsie said in a soothing voice. “It was just
cross-examination—the defense attorney gets to ask questions. I explained that
to you before.”

“But I am the victim. My family owns the bank.”

“That’s right, Donna. But the defense has the right to confront
the witnesses against him.”

“Who gave that criminal the right to confront me? I am a
taxpaying citizen.”

Elsie
backed up a step, angling to make a getaway. “The US Constitution. Sixth
Amendment.”

The
banker’s
eyes narrowed; Elsie sensed that the woman didn’t appreciate the finer
points of the Bill of Rights.

“When will the court make him pay for the cleanup? The
cleanup of the bank lobby?”

Edging
closer to the door, Elsie shook her head. “Hard to say. You think this
guy has any money?”

Mrs.
Hudson’s
unhappy expression showed that the conversation wasn’t over. But
as she was about to speak again, Elsie’s friend and coworker,
Breeon Johnson, hurried into the courtroom and grabbed Elsie’s arm.

“Downstairs,”Breeon
said.

“Now? Right now?”Elsie asked.

“Just one darned minute,”Donna Hudson said. She opened a Louis Vuitton handbag and
pulled out a Kleenex, rubbing furiously at her nose. Elsie eyed the bag with
curiosity. It was probably the real article. Though as an employee of a rural
county in the Ozarks, Elsie didn’t have sufficient acquaintance with designer goods to
distinguish the genuine product from a knockoff.

Elsie
gave Breeon an inquiring look. “Can you wait a sec?”

Breeon
tugged at her arm. “Can’t wait. It’s an emergency.”

Elsie
could see from Breeon’s face that she was deadly serious. “Okay,”she said. Looking back at the banker, Elsie spoke hastily. “The system is working, Mrs.
Hudson. Your bank robber has been bound over; he’ll be arraigned in Circuit
Court, and his case will be set for jury trial. I appreciate your cooperation,
and your testimony. But I have to get downstairs.”She looked over to the door; Breeon had just vanished
through it. “Something major is going on.”

The
banker protested, her voice shrill, but Elsie departed at a fast pace, and
scrambled down the worn marble staircase of the McCown County Courthouse,
catching up to Breeon at the back entrance to the Prosecutor’s Office.

“What?”Elsie
demanded, as Breeon punched the security buttons to access the private
entrance. “What is it?”

Breeon
shook her head in disgust. “Another murder. They found the body in a trailer home,
right outside the city limits. Can you believe it?”

“Again?”Murder
cases were rare in rural McCown County, a small community nestled deep in the
Ozark hills of southwest Missouri. Elsie had handled a murder case over the
summer, prosecuting a juvenile for the death of a bus driver. A second
homicide, occurring within such a short period of time, would shake the entire
community.

“Yeah, another woman,”Breeon said, pushing the door open. “But a young one this time.”

“Aw, shit,”Elsie said.

Breeon
gave her a look, righteous anger evident in her face. “She was eight months
pregnant.”

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Author bio:

Nancy Allen practiced law for 15 years as Assistant Missouri Attorney General and Assistant Prosecutor in her native Ozarks. She has tried over 30 jury trials, including murder and sexual offenses, and is now a law instructor at Missouri State University. Her first novel,The Code of the Hills, was published by HarperCollins in 2014.